Ground Zero
by cloud932
Summary: A story based during and after the events of Fight Club. Set in England, hopefully going to develop it into a full story.
1. Destination A to D

Ever since I watched Fight Club with my friend about a year or two ago I've been obssessed with it, probably to the duress of some people. But since then I've been part of one, tried creating one at secondary and so it seems the next step would be to either blow up some banks or write a fan fiction about it, I think this is the wiser option. The story itself is set during and after the events of Fight Club and is based on the book and film depending on how well i think they did on certain events.

This story is really for everyone feeling they've been crushed; by teachers, bosses, parents or anyone really. And how when you hit bottom anything or anyone with the answer seems your Messiah, but basically the point is just to say 'Fuck you!' to anyone trying to make you blend in with all the sheep out there.

'In Tyler We Trust'

**Ground Zero**

Say the name Tyler Durden to people and more than likely they'll react with a look of 'who the fuck are you talking about?' or with a silent look of awe. See, to most people he was just another nobody, a face on the wall of employees crushed by corporate formalities. But, to the lucky few who actually knew him, or, at least knew of him he was an icon, the only pariah of our time and the mastermind to one of the greatest forms of release around.

Fight Club wasn't so much Tyler's creation as it was his gift to us; junkies had drugs, alcoholics had their beer. We had Fight Club. Quite how Tyler came up with it no-one knows, some say he had a fight in a car park and went on from there, others that he got his ass kicked by his boss so he set the club up after so his co workers could feel the same release he had felt. Knowing that crazy bastard all the rumours were true. Before long Fight Clubs were springing up all over America, inevitably catching the attention of the media and politicians. Elections were coming up. They promised to get rid Fight Club. A 'plague' is what they called it. Tyler made sure they could do fuck all about it and before long even they stopped trying to finish Fight Club. The 'plague' spread and like all good plagues it soon infected other countries.

As a kid you always have high expectations of your life; finish secondary school with good grades, get a degree from university, high class job at twenty two and settle down with a family set for life at thirty. The reality though? Well, that's a little different. The girl you love ditches you for some exec dick, swiftly followed by your parents throwing you out for wrongly believing you've turned to drugs which leaves you on the streets alone but with last month's pay. The normal thing to do would be to find solace through drinking right? Not when you've still another month until you turn eighteen with the option of attempting to buy alcohol anyway ruled out with what's known as a 'baby face'. When I was younger my parents used to call me 'Angel Face' but with the red hair of the Devil. Religious bastards. No, instead you find yourself renting a shitty flat above the local pub and throwing yourself into work. After a while work blends into one continuous action, cars always need fixing; especially with the current set of assholes on the road.

A truck sets off from 'A' with the intention of reaching 'B' within two hours. The truck is carrying immaculate fridges that only the rich or stupid would even consider buying, it's also being driven by Mike Newlan. See, Mike had been in the running to be the manager of the newest brewery in the city but, his wife, Mindy, was fucking the CEO of said brewery. Mike put the CEO in hospital and himself in prison. By the time he got out Mindy and the CEO had eloped taking his kids with them leaving Mike jobless and alone with one helluva mortgage left to pay on his house. Mike hit the bottle. Hard. He promised not to drink again after the police found him cradling the corpse of the family dog, sobbing...in a vat of distilled alcohol. Mike was a liar. And a bad navigator.

After a bout of comfort drinking Mike found a 'C', which he crashed through, flung through the windscreen he landed in 'D', a ditch. 'C' had been a primary school during dinner break. Like all schools at dinner the playground had been full of screaming kids running like little crazy midgets. Take a truck fully loaded with large fridges, add a drunk driver and a bunch of kids you end up with twelve kids injured, one teacher seriously injured, five dead children and quite a few grieving parents. Oh, and a dead Mike. Understandably the grief the parents felt turned to anger and with Mike dead they had to direct it elsewhere.

When Mike had brought his truck to me for a routine service we got talking, mainly about his drinking during which he told me it was like a poison. The second he ingested it the alcohol infected his entire body. Veins swelled as his blood turned stale and stagnant, cells in his body rotted away eating him from the inside and the area of his brain that usually made sensible decisions literally haemorrhaged, pooling blood until it no longer functioned. His body could reject the poison, he told me, it could bring it back from the route it came exiting very civilly through his mouth leaving an aftertaste of shame. That poison he felt infected the grieving parents turning sensible people, most of whom were regarded as the elite of the city into, well, idiots directing their anger not at him but at the company who had serviced his truck. The company I work for. The report their solicitors published claimed the brake pedal had been faulty but the only faulty thing was that the dumbass driver had been too intoxicated to realise it was there and press it before driving through the school.

The directors couldn't let it be traced back to them because that would mean everyone else would lose their job and more importantly, they'd lose money so the blame was passed to the managers. Of course they couldn't accept the blame they'd lose money as well besides, they didn't control what happened in the garage the supervisors did. Accepting the blame would mean the supervisor of that shift would lose his job, as a qualified mechanic he should have seen such a nonexistent fault, as should all the other qualified mechanics who would also lose their coveted roles. The apprentice however, the kid who was expected to make mistakes would only get a slap on the wrist, a written warning and some pissed parents after him. Therefore the blame gets passed from Mike all the way down to me. Whopee fucking doo. Mike gets to lie cold in a grave and I get roasted by my manager and a solicitor for his mistake.

Nice.

**AW**

Whilst the first chapter is fairly short the following ones get longer, basically I wanted some feedback on people's first impressions on the character before continuing, and yes I know that there's not muh mention of Tyler, Fight Club or even violence but trust me, it only gets darker here on out.

Peace, Cloud932 out.


	2. 24 Week Service

Ch2-24 Week Service

In my line of business there are stages to how fired you are. Fuck up once and you get a formal meeting. Stage one. Stage two consists of a probation followed by a written warning, stage two occurs if you mess up after having a formal meeting. Stage three was left reserved for those who insisted on fucking up or if you forgot to check the brakes of a truck so it ended up ploughing into a school. This was a final formal meeting with a slash in your pay check, one more bad move and you're back to being unemployed with a less than complimenting reference. I'd been immediately bumped up to stage three thanks to Mike, if those maggots hadn't ate his face off yet I'd be disappointed. The bastard.

Before my formal meeting my manager had told me that he would try and make it so the fault wasn't completely mine, I had asked him how that would work and with that he answered with just a blank look before ushering me into his office. Carl had been a mechanic himself until last year when the old manager died of a heart attack on a boating trip, since then he had seen himself rise faster through the ranks faster than a guy's dick on Viagra. He was a caring guy of sorts but ultimately if it came between me and his newly acquired lifestyle it wouldn't take a genius to know which he'd save.

Every morning Carl woke up at seven, had a shower, kissed his wife goodbye before dropping off his kids at school and came to work. He'd finish at five then go home, play with his kids, have a meal and fuck his wife. He was stuck in a rut. A rut he enjoyed, so if he showed any leniency towards me during the meeting no doubt the solicitor would note it and the parents of the dearly deceased would crucify him. So in other words, I was fucked.

The office itself was generic. A single desk with a single chair behind it, pictures of his family strewn across it, placed nonchalantly as if to give a relaxed air to it, the grey walls only served to this effect in Carl's head with the only business like apparatus in the office a small desktop computer which he placed himself behind promptly as I walked in. He'd set out a chair for me in front of him and another in the corner for the solicitor who looked every inch the blood sucking parasite I had imagined he'd be. He didn't give a shit about the family's grief he just knew at the end of all of this no matter what the outcome there would be a nice fat pay check coming his way that he could use for his bills and prostitutes. Carl had introduced himself to me and the solicitor, needless really unless he thought I was stupid enough to have forgotten his name or the solicitor hadn't been briefed before he had arrived.

The meeting began officially and my manager began by explaining how none of this is directly my fault, how I should've been checked on more carefully and how he'd rectify it in the future, followed by the solicitor's furious scrawling on his paper. I zoned out and adopted the usual sincere face I apply when I couldn't really give a shit. Nod every couple of seconds, look sad, burst into tears if needs be and you're set for getting away with it. He wrapped up his speech and told me he 'hopes I can live with myself with the deaths of all those poor children on my conscience.'.

I'd say if looks could kill but with the solicitor noting every word, every action and counter action my face had to remain expressionless, morbid even. If thoughts could kill though, I'd be a fucking serial killer. Hell, I'd be England's most wanted man, get some fame then go out in a storm of fire.

* * *

You know something's fucked up when the only thing you receive for your birthday is a card from your brother which reads 'Dad says you're an addict now, sort it out.'. Nice. Son of a bitch didn't even ask me if I was, instead he chose to believe my father. I wasn't a drug addict but if I kept buying alcohol like I had been doing it wouldn't be long till I was joining the AA.

Since turning eighteen all I had bought was alcohol, making up for lost time I suppose. A flat above a pub, almost bare of furnishings, devoid of food, the only sustenance a fridge full of alcohol. Mike would have been proud. Ever since the formal meeting at work my supervisor avoided giving me complex jobs for fear of another 'accident' followed by a swift kick up my ass and his instant dismissal. Instead I had to do all the paperwork for the garage. Sounds boring but it did have its perks.

It didn't take long to figure someone had been siphoning off company funds, determined to figure out who it was I soon isolated myself from the people around me. Days melded into one, the only way I knew what day it was depended on how pissed Charles was when he came into work.

Charles Eserki had been an apprentice too, one of the best I'd heard, but like all the greats he got overexposed; awards, 'Apprentice of the Year' trophies, he had it all. It didn't take long though for his standards to start slipping. Drugs and alcohol had been a factor, but the main player to his downfall was his own arrogance. Charles would come in stoned out of his face still reeking of the previous night's misdemeanours, even though he wasn't in the right state of mind his work went unchecked. He'd forgotten to torque the wheelnuts up on a van, the wheels fell off and the driver was left with a broken spine. Stage One for Charles.

Stage Two occurred after a taxi driver who had argued with Charles ended up in hospital with an exhaust probe stuck where the sun don't shine. It was soon discovered that the 'Apprentice of the Year' had taken crack earlier that morning.

Faced with the choice of rehab or unemployment, he enjoyed a detox period and came back a new man, humbled after his fall from grace. Unfortunately his old ways returned not long after I started working and I had to watch as my mentor let his demons haunt him. As the week progressed he'd come in more and more intoxicated.

It must have been Friday, Charles was still wasted from the night before. Drunkenly he greeted my supervisor and I before stumbling into the workshop apparently expecting a stationary vehicle to move out of his way. It didn't. I settled back to checking the accounts before Carl passed by to his office in his usual Tesco value suit he thought made him look formal. Combined with the spiky haircut Ben Sherman decided was trendy he looked like a kid on his way to prom.

With my six months of probation almost over I'd gotten close to finding who had been siphoning the funds. Charles and my supervisor got to fix cars and I got to live out my childhood fantasies of being a detective of sorts. Perfect. During my probation I'd found a reason to focus in finding the thief. The alcohol in my fridge receded, instead it was replaced by salads and fruit drinks. My health improved so I wouldn't find my mind wandering at work and I stopped falling asleep randomly.

And there it was.

An invoice for tools that had never been delivered. To any auditor it would look legit but working in the garage you'd instantly know if any new tools had come. An order for twenty adjustable spanners costing nearly two hundred pounds had been placed, twenty adjustable spanners for six people? It made no sense, especially when usually we bought our own tools. More orders for tools that had never arrived covered the invoice totalling just under four grand. It screamed one thing. Scam.

The initials read C.E. Charles no longer had the intelligence to carry out such a scam, the drugs and alcohol had seen to that. I'd also seen his signature almost daily when he'd signed my college sheets for me. I'd only seen the signature on the invoice twice: my employment contract and on my letter of probation. C.E. Carl Endrinstan. I'd got the son of a bitch.

"Umm could you see what these guys want? I umm still can't really see well," Charles broke my line of thought as he tapped my shoulder, " And umm, don't tell Carl please?" I looked up at him as I hid the paperwork. He still looked pissed but at least he was slowly coming back to his senses, he'd be back to the old mechanic that could fix a car in minutes before the next break.

"Yeah sure no problem Charles, and don't worry man, course I won't. You've covered my back more than enough, I still owe you like a lot." I smiled as I got up and walked to the counter, Charles stumbled back through the wooden door into the workshop almost slipping on the newly varnished floor.

Carl walked by saying something about getting a sandwich, as he turned to leave out the door he caught my glare. Fuck. I hadn't hidden my anger well.

"You ok? You look a little…pissed off?" He walked up to me and studied my face. From that distance I could smell his cheap aftershave, as usual his face was covered in shaving cuts. Almost thirty and he still couldn't shave, his sea blue eyes hid his guilt well. What a joke. I shook my head and made a quick excuse, he bought it and started to leave once more.

"Carl? When you come back can we talk? It's pretty important." He looked at me again, stood between the door, a puzzled look flashed across his face. After all I had just told him I was fine then told him I needed an important conversation. Understandable really. He nodded and walked out, the door slamming behind him.

" Sorry about that, what can I do for you?" I asked as I looked up to the man waiting behind the reception desk and was taken aback. A face of relentless beauty greeted me. One that any guy would be jealous to have. His cropped blonde hair fell perfectly before his face and whilst Carl's blue eyes hid guilt this guys were the deepest blue I'd ever seen. My parents had said I had an angelic face but this guy with his perfectly formed features was a true angel face.

"It's ok." He said with an American twang. " Umm a service on my car?" I assumed he meant an MOT, either he was a tourist or he hadn't got used to English terminology.

I nodded and took his details, after he glanced behind him at the man sat in the chair across the reception, I hadn't even noticed him but he was the complete opposite of Angel Face. Everything was different, his hair, dark brown still as short as Angel Face's but somehow different, he looked like he was missing a few teeth and his nose was slightly crooked, probably after being reset as it looked like it had been broken. Dressed in a cheap suit that still somehow looked stylish he could have been a lawyer or salesman.

"Mr Durden, he says the car won't be ready until tomorrow, they're busy today. That ok?" The American twang still evident in his voice. Mr Durden rose from his chair and smiled, walked to the desk with an air of unrequited confidence, almost making me feel uneasy yet at the same time, more comfortable than I had been in weeks.

"Yeah that's fine," He drawled in an American accent, " We won't be ready for it until tomorrow anyways." So, he was American too? He smiled again, a politician's smile. One that could convince you everything would be fine even as he drove a knife between your ribs.

He smiled again and asked me if I would join them for a drink after work, I declined politely for fear of a hangover the next day. Disappointment briefly flashed across his face but he hid it well, leaving behind his contact details in case of an emergency.

After Tyler and Angel Face had left I settled back into the rear of the office pondering on how to confront Carl best. I'd grab him and scream I knew about his scam. That'd never work. I'd have to be tactical. Reasonable. Then drop the bombshell on him.

That bastard was going to regret ever hiring me.

**AW**

Apologies it's taken me this long to write so little, I'd go into the why's and stuff but it's not the time or place. Once again there's been no violence in this chapter but there needs to be a build up(in my eyes at least) or the violence just seems trivial. I'll try and get the next chapter out sooner hopefully within the next few weeks. Again all reviews,comments,complaints etc are welcome.

Peace out, Cloud932 x


	3. Update

**Update**

Yes I know, using a chapter as an update is not cricket but I believe that for the few that still subscribe to this story adding a chapter for a quick update will reach them better than updating my profile again.

As you can probably tell, it's been a while since I sat down and wrote anything so quality is a tad lacking. That said, it will improve again! I've stated in my profile that this tale became dead in the water so to speak, whilst true at the time of writing the status of it has changed.

With various other projects on the go, all seemingly feeding my creativity I've decided to have another crack at this, it will be rewritten and expanded upon whilst I hope to also expand on other existing novels.

If anyone has noticed I seem to have a trend of writing a bit, going away,coming back etc without actually doing too much. That's going to change.

Expect more content soon.

Tom out x


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